


Foggy

by Legendaerie



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb, Angst, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Onesided, Trolls on Earth AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-29
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-02 17:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/Legendaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat Vantas.  Today is a Wednesday, your least favorite day of the week (if that's even possible), it's raining and you are flat on your back on your roomate's bed waiting for him to come home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If you know I get lonely, why do you still (always) leave?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zilleniose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zilleniose/gifts).



> Here, have some feelings.
> 
> (might need to tilt the screen to see images)
> 
> Wasn't the one I planned to write for ya, Zoey, but here you go. <3

  
Your name is Karkat Vantas.  
  
Today is a Wednesday, your least favorite day of the week (if that's even possible), it's raining and you are flat on your back on your room mate's bed waiting for him to come home.  
  
 **== > Examine your room**  
  
You're not in your room, you're in his.  
  
 **== > Examine it anyway**  
  
Fuck.  
  
His room is just like him - uncluttered, a little messy, the misty breeze from the open window mingling with the already circulating air from the ceiling fan to give everything a feeling of ceaseless motion.  A couple posters cling for life on the walls - you've already rehung one of them twice in the past hour, pushing yourself up onto your tiptoes and pressing the corners into the wall, foolishly believing that with enough pressure it'll stick.  
  
And just like the room's actual rightful owner, they just crumple up and fall off.  
  
His sheets are still printed (childishly) but always clean, so when you snatch his pillow and bury your face in it you catch only the faintest whiff of his scent.  It's the smell of dried sweat and saliva - not pleasant but still a gentler odor than troll.  
  
 **== > Examine your life**  
  
It hasn't been easy.  Trolls were only a couple steps above dogs on this planet, and about as socially welcome as child molesters.  You'd been hatched 19 Earth years ago, stolen away by your loving Crabdad to a cold, cloudy place where almost no other trolls lived.  
  
You are a mutant, and even after generations of living on a foreign planet under foreign rules your race is still savage and would have torn you to bits had you lived in a city like New Alternia.  Starting with the seadwellers, who are the only trolls with full 'human' rights - jealous of your cherry red blood that would dare to make the obsolete (outside of troll society) blood caste system a full circle.  
  
Humans may not like you, but they quietly dislike you all equally, so you guess that's okay.  
  
Besides, even trolls and human could get along on the internet, which is where you'd met all of your current human acquaintances.  Most importantly, it was where you'd met your room mate.  
  
 **== > Examine your choices.**  
  
You moved in with Gamzee Makara, your moirail, after your lusus had died, almost six years ago.  You moved out once Gamzee had moved in with his matesprit Tavros Nitram to help the crippled troll almost two years ago.  A nomadic lifestyle wasn't that unusual even for humans here, but you'd never liked the chaos of having to get used to something only to have your world shaken again.  
  
So you'd been pretty reluctant to move in with John Egbert when he'd invited you, because you knew it wasn't going to last.  
  
As soon as John was out of college, he was going to get married and then you'd have to move out all over again.  But the seatroll song of cheap room and board coupled with unlimited internet for the only troll college in the state won out over your need for stability, and here you are.  
  
Well, in a general sense.  
  
 **== > Welcome your room mate home**  
  
The door squeaks on its hinges, and you steal out of John's room before he can find you in there (flopped glumly on his slimeless recuperacoon like a lusus-sick grub) and throw yourself onto your nearest pile.  This one happens to be the pile of plush toys sent to you by Dave Strider (a friend of John), Terezi Pyrope (your ex-matesprit) and Jade Harley (a mutual friend of you and John), and it squeaks and squishes and presses round butt cheeks into your eyes.  
  
You hiss quietly and roll over, watching the door and listening.  Footsteps on the stairs are too light for John's lusus, too bouncy to be Rose's, too clumsy to be Dave's and too steady to be Jade's.  Even the way he walks is so John you can hardly stand it.  
  
He opens the door slightly, making a shushing noise over his shoulder as Vriska makes an annoyed sound.  You hear John's door close, watch John's eyes widen and hear Vriska's lilting reply and see John's cheeks flush.  
  
This hurts just like it does every Wednesday night, when they go on their weekly date.

 

How she ever managed a matesprit is beyond you.  She's too calculating to feel real pity - once she feels like she's made them 'stronger' or given up on them for being 'losers' she's gone.  But of course she's been with _John_ for years.

  
Yep, Wednesday is totally your least favorite day.  Fuck what anyone says about that not being possible (or pawsible in Nepeta's case) it is your least.  Favorite.  Day.  
  
"Hey, Karkat?"  
  
John's voice is quiet as he peers shortsightedly into the dark of your room, then his whole face fucking brightens when he sees you awake.  
  
"Hey, Egbert," you mutter, standing up to stare the brown paper bag he holds out to you.  
  
"I brought you a pretzel from the bakery.  I know you get lonely home by yourself, so I got you a little treat."  
  
You resist the urge to open said bag and bury your face in it, to try and breathe in all the buttery, salty, doughy glory of the twisted treat John brought you home.  It still makes your mouth water a bit anyway.  
  
Everything he does is so wretchedly pitiable you wonder why you ever thought this would work.  You swallow.  
  
"If you know I get lonely, then why do you leave?"  
  
You're so rung out by now you can't even say thank you.  His face falters a bit.  You drop his gaze and wished you hadn't spoken.  The grating, mocking laugh of the spider8itch makes your bloodpusher ache all over again.  
  
She's probably going to stay the night again, and after Vriska's done getting noisy, too rough pity-sex out of John she'll probably come over and try and coax hate-sex out of you.

  
Last time it worked, but you're not going to let her cheat on Kanaya again.  
  
"Never mind," you mutter as you push by John, pausing beside him to breathe in his intoxicating cocktail of hormones, deodorant and rain that was always floating around him.  And because he would be hurt if you didn't, and you'd be starving if you didn't, you take the pretzel from him and slink out the door.  
  
 **== > Run**  
  
It's too cold and wet for you to run - coldblooded, grey skinned monster, you'd freeze or worse, the gill slits on your sides would open to suck oxygen out of the rain to try and boost your immune system.  And fuck if that isn't the last thing you want _anyone, ever_ to see.  
  
 **== > Fine, walk**  
  
You walk, sticking to the shelter the trees give in hopes of avoiding the worst of the rain.  If you get wet, that'll suck.  But you'd rather be culled then get John's pretzel soaking wet.  
  
John's neighborhood may be large, but it's also really fucking close to a mountain range you never bothered to get the name of, and since times have changed and so long as you mind your own business no one will stone you, you get to the woodland fringes unchallenged.  
  
 **== > It's not like you can escape your problems, anyway**

 


	2. This shouldn't have happened, we're all just (stupid, lovestruck) kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what the hell is pacing even

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you're stopped running - for now, at least, and not from your problems.  
  
 **== > Examine surroundings**  
  
You've arrived at an obscure and mostly isolated tiny mountain pond.  It's still too bright out for you to really see any details - just a mass of gray and blue and green, but that might also be the fog that continually floats above the lake.  
  
You think it's called Spirit Lake or something equally asinine.  This body of water is as still as the grave and as clear as human tears.  
  
You really wish you didn't know what those looked like.  
 **  
== > Reminisce on human tears**  
  
Hell the fuck no.  
  
Try again.  
  
 **== > Seriously, fill us in on this incident**  
  
You are not going to ever relive any kind of memories involving rom-com movie night with John Egbert, because the last thing you want to do is remember those days back when you still thought you might have had any sort of chance with John 'I am not a homosexual' Egbert.  
  
You are certainly not going to relive watching Human Con Air and letting John 'I am Matesprits with the Spider8itch and have a creepy girls-only fetish' Egbert hug you and his plush bunny replika and sing tearfully along.  
  
And you will most certainly not ever again attempt to relive carrying him upstairs when he'd fallen asleep and realizing you were humming 'How Do I Live' the whole way to his bedroom.  
  
Never.  
  
Past you is a fool.  Even a bigger fool than the past you that considered not bringing this criminally delicious pretzel with you when you absconded.  
  
You lick the last bits of buttery salty goodness off your claws and stare at the lake.  
  
 **== > Fondly regard lake**  
  
You know that this would be a good place for a little swim - much better than trying to ignore the racing lines of agony and dizziness that hit you whenever you tried to shower - but today is not the day for that.  Night is best, when you've woken up in the dead hours of the morning and can head out unchallenged.  
  
Besides, you've already been gone for a few hours, and there's some kind of nagging feeling that you shouldn't have left.  
  
 **== > Follow your heart**  
  
That would be stupid, and Present You isn't that big of a fool.  
  
Probably.  
 **  
== > Head home**  
  
Okay, that's probably an Okay Idea.  You've been gone for a good fews hours now, so hopefully those two would have fucked each other senseless by now.  Also the fact that there's a human standing on the far side of the lake watching you lick your claws hunched over by the water's edge makes you nervous.  
  
It's not like they really need an excuse to dislike you, anyway.  Trolls aren't exactly the easiest creatures to get along with - you'll admit that much.  
  
Best get going, then, if you want to make it back by nightfall to snatch a couple hours of sleep.  
  
\---  
  
 **== > Wake to strange smell**  
  
It's a strange sensation to wake up to your mouth watering and ripples of fear running up and down your spine like tones on a tuning fork.  You swallow then open your mouth to breathe in the smell better.  
  
Blood.  
  
Human blood.  
  
Your blood-pusher freezes, drops like a rock thrown in the tear-filled lake, and you're tearing down the door to John's room without even remembering getting up.  It's probably half due to your natural, instinctual fear upon waking but damn it, something is wrong and your mind is going at a million miles an hour when you see red all over Vriska's shirt.  
  
That fucking _idiot_.  
  
She tried to spend the night with him in his bed.  
  
 **== > Assess damage**  
  
Oh god oh _fuck_ the last thing you want to do is examine John Egbert, shirtless and half-flayed, sprawled out on the bed gasping for air and _gagging on blood oh fuck no no no no_...  
  
"...No no _no **no**_!"  
  
You think you've been chanting the words out loud, but then you hear Vriska's panicked sob as she steps further away from John.  She doesn't know how to fix people, only break them, and she didn't mean to but by the Sufferer's burning bonds you want to rip her in half right now.  
  
 _How could she?_  
  
You're so low you're not even on the spectrum and you can't sleep for too long without the numbing sopor slime and she's a fucking _highblood_.  
  
She's also sobbing like you never thought you'd see her cry, and you realize numbly you're going to have to be the one to patch things up here.  
  
 **== > Try to stop the bleeding**  
  
You press John's printed sheets against the wounds on his chest - most of them, thankfully, look like they've steered clear of the organs but he'll probably need stitches if he doesn't choke on that horrible gash across his throat.  
  
She probably had a nightmare, giving him the lighter chest wounds, and he tried to wake her up and...  
  
That was a kill blow in just about any culture.  
  
Fuck, fuck, _fuck._  
  
You breathe in shakily as you examine the thickening blood.  Whether it's clotting or he's just dehydrated you have no idea.  
  
Carefully, you raise his upper body, supporting his head with your free hand so he can breathe a little easier, and issue orders to Vriska.  
  
"Call for help."  
  
She goes positively ashen.  
  
"They'll kill me."  
  
You grit your teeth.  "Of course they fucking will, unless we can save your matesprit's life."  You can't call him John, you can't pay attention to who is currently bleeding cherry red into the precious printed sheets he's managed to save since late childhood, or you're going to be sick.  
  
Vriska still suddenly, and you have the barest inkling as so what she's doing moments before it hits.  
  
' _This is your fault Karkat, he's your roommate, you did this to him, it's all you, I was never ever here..._ '  
  
Her power is like a drugged haze, your senses ignoring your will, then it snaps back like a bent branch and you're on top of her, screaming rage and lusting to paint the town blue with her blood.  
  
You hit the ground outside with a crack, she's on top of you and the air driven out of your lungs but you don't care.  She's a highblood and you know that if you give her a second to concentrate she'll melt the brain out of your head but you don't care.  You know that John is probably dying upstairs and there's shards of glass digging into your back and this shouldn't have happened, you're all just kids and you don't care and everything around you is black and black and red and blue.

 

**== > Black out**


	3. You're dust and lint and you're just looking for someone to cling to (for dear life)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone help me please, I've been kidnapped by my own story. Why do all my two-shots want to become freaking novels?

 

Your name is Karkat Vantas.  You think.  
  
 **== >Abscond**  
  
You're so laced with sedatives and something that makes you feel outwards giddy and inwardly terrified that you couldn't get up even if you weren't handcuffed to the back of a car seat.  
  
Wait.  
  
 _Shit._  
  
You jerk at your bonds reflexively, feeling only a slight pressure when you should have felt (burning hot) icy cold steel and the sharp edges digging into your skin.  Outside the rain is still pattering cheerfully on the windshield and the lights are flashing blue and red and you're thinking that maybe you should be alarmed???  
  
Someone cackles beside you, and you'd know that sound and that smile anywhere.  
  
"Terezi," you mumble around a numb tongue, and she pats the top of her head.  
  
"Call me Officer Pyrope."  She's always been happy over the strangest things but you're not even 100% sure where your own legs are so it's okay.  Her weirdness and the lingering feelings of pity you still have for her are nothing, nothing at all.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
Someone else in the cramped car stirs, a blur of dark grey and a set of bicolored glasses, and Sollux clarifies for Terezi.  
  
"We were called in for a domethic dithurbance.  Athhole."  
  
You finally take a few seconds to breathe, to force yourself to be aware of your surroundings - the neat bandages all over your torso and on the side of your neck, the fading sensation of numbness and the rush of pain in your head and the bile rising in your throat as you start to, briefly, panic.  
  
John was dead, so dead, and his blood was all over your hands, _it was all your fault--_  
  
"Hey!"  
  
Sollux pats you this time, a psychic tazer of pain shocking your system and for the first time in hours you can think with perfect clarity.  
  
But _fuck_ do your sides _hurt_.  
  
You grit you teeth and swear hatefully at the four-horned police troll whose is wearing a shit eating grin you want to wipe off his face with your claws.  But your hands are kind of (metaphorically and physically) tied in this situation and you have way, way bigger scaly swimbeasts to fry.  
  
"Where's Vriska?"  
  
"Kanaya is fixing her up right now."  Terezi's voice again, as she frisks her nails through your hair.  It's somewhat perversely soothing.  "I called her in when I got the call."  
  
The numbness and the faint pain on the side of your neck makes sense now - rainbow drinkers come equipped with a special nonlethal venom to subdue their prey, and it's the only painkiller used in troll society even today.  
  
"You're lucky Terenthi ith the one who got called, or we woulda been watching your culling on prime time tomorrow."  
  
Sollux is still eying you cautiously, but he's on your side.  That much, at least, is evident.  
  
You close your eyes and try really, really hard not to vomit all over your shoes.  This evening has just been too much for your senses, and Vriska ripped open one of the gill slits on your side.  The ground where you had fought with her was probably soaked with your blood.  
  
The thought makes you light headed.    
  
 _Focus._  
  
"Can I go home?"  
  
The fight has been knocked clean out of you, and it sucks.  You realize all these things distantly, semidetached, as though your mind is doing its best to separate you from your battered body before you break.  
  
Terezi growls as Sollux rolls his eyes.  "Yeah, we'll fudge the recordth and try and get you off thcot free."  
  
"Sollux!  We are the law and justice is blind, no matter--"  
  
"Vrithka obviouthly attacked him and the human, tho we're letting him go."  The mustardblood snarls at her from across the car, which suddenly feels much smaller and shit shit Karkat don't get sick now, don't get sick...  
  
 **== >Get sick**  
  
No no no shit _fucking_ shit.  
  
"Shit," you choke out, as your whole body shivers and shakes and blackness swims at the edge of your vision.  You're going to puke in a police car, in front of your ex-matesprit and her partner-in-crime-fighting and that really, really _sucks_.  
  
A glowing hand presses itself against your forehead, then someone unlocks your handcuffs and helps you bend over outside the car.  
  
...  
  
When it's over, the same hand helps wipe off tears and snot and every other fluid your wretched body produces from your face, and Kanaya smiles at you as you lay back against the seats.  
  
"You need to go home and rest, Karkat.  Doctor's orders."  
  
"You're a mortician," Terezi protests even as she stares worriedly in your general direction.  "And are you going to try and auspicise between your kismesis and him?"  
  
"No, because I am still trying to auspicise..."  You blink unsteadily, trying to focus.  _Wow_ , you've lost a lot of blood, and the alarm bells in your head that were silenced by Kanaya's venom are going off again louder than before.  
  
"...She'll be out of it for a few hours."  
  
Kanaya's looking expectantly at you, and your slowed mind processes her last statement a few moments later.  
  
"Okay," you mutter, too tired to be properly acidic, then Kayana - who is taller than you, damn her - picks you up as though you were a newly hatched grub and carries you away from the police car.    
  
As you pass by, you see Vriska seated crosslegged where she had fallen out the window, her eyes dull and glassy from Kanaya's venom as she stares blankly at her hands.  
  
 _Murderer._  
  
 **== > Sleep**  
  
\---  
  
You open your eyes sometime later, and for a dizzy, confused moment panic because you can't see your hands where are they, did someone steal your hands?  You bet it was Sollux--  
  
And then as you become a bit more awake you see Gamzee grinning over you, and the next thought to pop into your head is that the indigoblood would probably be more likely to remove body parts for entertainment then Sollux, but that's just the fading effects of exhausted sleep talking.  
  
You sit up, slightly, wincing and growling at your moirail as he smiles calmly at you.  The light shining in through the drawn curtains of your bedroom is a calm scarlet glow - it's either the start of the end of a night.  But which night, even?  How long have you been out?  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
If your voice is hard but blunt like a dulled knife, Gamzee isn't bothered.  He's never bothered.  Instead he scoops you up and no, you are not letting someone do this to you twice and you struggle and resist the urge to bite.  
  
"Put me the fuck down, Gamzee, and answer the question!"  
  
"It's time for you to get your motherfucking visit on.  It's a serious motherfucking miracle, and you need to come witness it."  
  
He at least has the kindness to put you down, and you wince and lean against the wall as you start towards the bathroom.  Vriska didn't break anything  other than maybe a rib because it hurts to breathe, but that could be emotional trauma too.    
  
You open the door, and the smell of his body spray and the bright blue towel draped over the shower curtain rod hits you with jsut as much impact as falling out the window did, and you stagger and Gamzee catches you.  
  
"You look just fine, bro."  He drapes one ridiculously long arm across your shoulders and leads you downstairs.  You stumble once or twice, intact and bruised but on your feet at least, and your moirail offers support without commentary.  You ease yourself into the car beside him, lean the front seat back and close your eyes.  
  
You drift for a bit, then the car has stopped in a parking garage and you're being guided inside a strange building that, after a moment, you recognize as a hospital.  
  
Gamzee sees your fists clench and hugs you closer (but gently, so gently.)  
  
 **== > Be strong**  
  
You want so badly to run but you don't know where you're going.  You can't just blindly follow your emotions because you're not the hero in some romantic movie - you're not a hero at all, and you're certainly not the knight in shining armor here to save the heir.  
  
You're shaking and you feel weak, you're nothing worthwhile, nothing substantial - you're dust and lint and you're just looking for someone to cling to and when the door opens you want to glue yourself to the boy in the bed and never let go.  
  
But Vriska's already doing that, and she's sobbing and you know you're not the lead in this story, so you just dig your nails into your palms and stare as John smiles at you from between Vriska's horns.  
  
"Hey, Karkat."


	4. (You're mixing metaphors but) when you toy with heartstrings, they tend to tangle (and unravel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the art delay.

 

Your name is (still) Karkat Vantas, it's been six weeks or so since your roommate came home, and nothing (everything) has changed.  
 **  
== > Examine self in bathroom mirror**  
  
You're fresh out of the shower, sore and grumpy from your gills freaking out under the soapy rushing water, but at least you're free of scars from your fight with Vriska.  Troll skin is tough and what doesn't kill you generally heals in a day or two.  There's only a short line coming off the end of one gill from where her claw caught in the slit and nothing else.

The same seems to hold true with John and Vriska.  Predictably, and with some meddling on Sollux' part and no doubt psychic coercion on Vriska's, any and all assault charges against the blue blood had been dropped _._ On top of this, John's neck laceration left him only a faintly white scar (though it had looked awful initially, sewn up like one of Terezi's ripped scalemates).  
But there was something still... different in the small house.

**== > Consider room-mate's behavioral changes**

You don't have time to stand around in the bathroom dripping wet and naked!  You've already had to face the shame of John walking in on you, commenting on your gills and calling you 'Sharkat' before you made him swear to forget he ever saw it.  if Vriska sees, you will never live it down.

You might not even live long enough to live it down.  You can never tell with girls.

If you did have time, however, you'd reminisce on how Vriska seemed more short tempered with John than usual... And how John looked a little more reserved than he had before.

  
 **== > Change into clothes**  
  
You pull on your clean clothes - brown printed t-shirt, blue jeans - and gather up the dirty to take to the laundry room, only to freeze in the doorway at the sight of John.  
  
John bleeding from a bite high on his shoulder.  
  
Again.  
  
He blinks, awkwardly, then flashes a brief smile and skirts around you to enter the bathroom.  He jerks off his shirt - you press your back to the wall outside, swear internally at his flippancy about clothes, then peer around the door frame to see the clawmarks on his back.  
  
Black hate boils up inside you again.  
  
Matesprits don't claw each other like that.  Matespirtship should be tender and gentle - pity was like a promise to never, _ever_ hurt the other.  _Especially_ at their most vulnerable.  
  
It's a stupid idea, that anyone could be filling a quadrant 'wrong', but it won't be silenced.  If anyone could do it, it would be Vriska - the troll who seeps blackrom into all of her quandrant through how much she hates others.  
  
You try not to think about how you do the same through how much you hate yourself.  It doesn't work that well.  
  
You grind your teeth, turn on your heel and don't look back.  
 **  
== > Confront the spider8itch**  
  
She's half sitting, half curled up on the couch reading the back of a DVD.  It's late night/early morning on a Saturday, so they'll probably try to squeeze in a movie before the cartoons come on, and if John falls asleep you'll have to be called in to make sure Vriska doesn't follow suit.  
  
She'd napped beside him once or twice before without problems, and you have the sneaking suspicion Vriska's trying to flaunt her matesprit at you and strengthen your off-and-on kismesitude.  Of course it only convinces you to try mating with her with the sole objective of _killing her_ just before the bucket fills.  
  
Yeah, that's probably _not_ how you do a kismesitude either but what would you know?  
  
"Vriska," you state, crossing your arms and fixing her with your coldest yellow stare.  "We need to talk."  
  
She flops down the DVD and turns halfway on the couch so she can lounge and still see you.  "About whaaaaaaaat?"  
  
"About John."  
  
She rolls her eyes and you resist the urge to snarl.  
  
"That's none of _your_ \--"  
  
"I saw what you did to his back and shoulder, Vriska.  Haven't you learned already how delicate his lackluster species is?  You can't quadrant hop with humans," you stop to lower your voice because you're starting to shout, "and if you're not careful you're going to _seriously_ hurt him."  
  
She giggles, and it takes a deep breath to not leap over the couch; not to gouge out those asymmetrical eyes and make her choke on them.  
  
"Has it ever occurred to you that he likes it when I'm rough?"  Leaning over the back of the couch now, she faces you fully now, smirking.  "Maybe he likes a mix of pleasure and pain.  You wouldn't know, and you never will."  
  
She licks her lips, and you realize she's not taking you seriously - too busy black-flirting with you.    
  
"I'm serious," you snarl and it comes out deeper than you meant it to.  It comes out a blatant threat.  Vriska blinks, then focuses her multi-pupiled eye.  
  
 **== > Brace yourself**  
  
You would do that if you weren't already rigid as petrified bone.  
  
Vriska rolls over the back of the couch so she's now leaning against it, standing just enough to be ready for an attack without actually acknowledging your challenge.  
  
"Oh, don't tell me you're trying to gonna try and swing us both into your _ashen_ quadrant, are you?"  She gives a half-laugh as she unfolds her arms in front of her.  You're stunned.  
  
"You think it's..."  
  
You lower your body into a fighting position - back arched, teeth bared, stomach tucked in, legs shoulder width apart, weight balanced on your dominant leg - as she follows suit more out of defense than aggression.  
  
"I knew it.  In the end, you only ever think about your goddamned self."  
  
You're angry, _so fucking angry_ , that tears are threatening to rise, blind your vision and risk giving your blood color away.  What she says has a bit of truth - you'd take John in _any_ quadrant by now, and that burns more than any scar - but you're really mostly concerned.    
  
You've seen enough human movies to know that when you play with relationships - heartstrings - they tend to tangle.  Of course, a spider _would_ try and weave them into a web and maybe you're just mixing metaphors here but you're afraid if she pulls too hard on them, John's going to snap.  
  
 **== > Voice concerns**  
  
"Of course you fucking would," you hiss, eyes boring into hers, "who were you thinking about when you spent the night and almost ripped him in half?"  
  
Her eyes go wide, and her teeth start to chatter.  Any second now, you're going to get a psychic death wish and ram your hand down the garbage disposal.  
  
But the words won't stop.  
  
"Who were you thinking about back when you sent Sollux to kill Aradia?  Who where you thinking about when you blinded Terezi?  Who were you thinking--"  
  
"Stop it!"  
  
She's raised her hands to her head and is staring you down like the sheer force of her anger is going to melt your face off - which it might.  Blue is seeping in the edges of your vision, lancing through your thoughts with _pain_ and _hate_ and _die you stupid, stupid..._  
  
"Who were you thinking about when you crippled Tavros?  Who were you thinking about when you forced him to fall in pity with you?"  
  
You don't hear the scream until she's already on top of you.  You don't even realize she's moved and stopped her psychic assault until the back of your head collides with the floor and you see stars.  You taste blood, too, but it tastes strange, like it's not your own, and as time and events catch up to you you realise you've raked your claws down the side of her face and across her left eye.  
  
Then she's thrown off of you by John.  
  
You cough and taste more blood in your mouth, your own, and swallow it thickly as you shake from adrenaline.  John's hand is still wrapped around Vriska's horn even though he's helping her wipe the blood off.  You can't see his face, but by Vriska's expression you're glad you can't.  
  
He lets her go, and when he speaks his voice seems tired, heavy.  
  
"Karkat, are you all right?"  
  
He won't look at you either, can't see you nod, so you sit up, lick the blood off your teeth and mutter an agreement under your breath.  
  
"Can you leave us alone for a bit?"  John's breath hitches, driving his voice up a pitch for a moment, and the full realization of what you've done makes your blood run cold.  
  
He heard your argument.  You shouldn't have meddled.    
  
You stand, still trembling, still watching John and Vriska stare at each other, totally still aside from Vriska blinking blood and a couple angry tears out of her eyes.  
  
"I didn't--" she starts, her voice defensive and almost childish.  
  
"Karkat," John cuts her off, his voice going authoritative like his guardian's would sometime, "go."  
  
You're still hesitating because this isn't what you wanted, you can hear him starting to cry, to break, but a little voice in the back of your mind that you want to blame as Vriska is saying that this _is_ what you wanted.  You wanted to drive them apart, because she's right, you don't care about his _feelings_ you just want him _all to yourself_ , every last tear drop, blood drop--  
  
" _Please_ ," he chokes out one last time.  
  
 **== > Run**


	5. All's well that ends well (and everything one day ends)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am going to fail this semester and you all know why. No art planned for this chapter at time of writing, oops.
> 
> Happy late birthday, John.

  
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you really, really wish it wasn't.  Because Karkat Vantas is the worst living being you know.  
  
 **== > Replay events of previous day**  
  
You can't, because to replay the events of the previous day would suggest that you'd stopped thinking about the events of the previous day.  Which you haven't stopped replaying since they were over.  
  
Since everything was over.  
  
 There's a human saying that all good things must end, and you agree because even though you'd always wanted John to yourself, you didn't want it like _this_.  But even a good idea left in the think-pan too long with often burn, and the memories are burning you the longer you dwell on them. You need to move on.  
  
It's the only thing you can do.  
  
 **== > Check status of room mate**  
  
You're juggling a tray with a glass of orangefruit squeezings and something advertized as a ' _way-fflay_ ' that looks like a brown spongy grid soaking in butter and sap-flavored syrup as you shout into his bedroom door.  
  
"You better be decent, Egbert, because I've got a hand full of breakfast, a queue full of shitty movies and a house full of crap that needs cleaning."  
  
You don't hear an answer, so you shift the tray to one hand so you can open the door awkwardly and give John a concerned once over.  
  
He hasn't been sleeping well,that's still evident, but at least he rolls over to offer you a pathetic smile for your labors that, among other things, involved defrosting _way-fflays_ at 9am on a Sunday morning.  
  
"Hey," he blushes, sniffs and... oh, he hadn't been sleeping much at all, had he?  
  
You place the tray beside his bed - it's not even a tray, it's just a metal cookie sheet, that's how much your shared house with John is unprepared for Serious Shit like break-ups - and debate sitting beside him.  The debate is settled when he grabs your hand and squeezes it.  
  
 **== > Hug flush crush**  
  
You can't do that.  Not now, not when you'd be taking advantage of a situation you're pretty sure you caused.  
  
Besides, crushes don't last this longs, nor hurt this much.  Crushes don't leave you in a constant state of hovering on the edge of a precipice, tense and desperate for safety or collaspe.  
  
Well, not the human term of crushes.  That aside, crush would probably be a very descriptive term and-- shit, _shit_ , you've gone off in your own head again and John looks like he has something to say.  Focus, Karkat.  Don't fuck this up - he needs you right now more you need him.  
  
"Karkat?"  
  
You lay down on your back across his knees and point to the tray beside him.  "Eat first."  
  
"But--"  
  
"No buts.  You haven't eaten since Friday night, and you look like death.  I won't talk to corpses."  
  
He shifts, and you watch him eat the sloppy, too-sweet-smelling food with veiled keenness.  His knees are digging into a line of nerves on one side of your spine and you can't decide whether it's comfortable or not but you won't move because you're way too stubborn and John's dripping syrup everywhere and...  
  
You really, really should move or you're going to get sticky all over you.  
  
But you won't.  
  
"Thanks, Karkat," John murmurs, then offers you the last quarter on his fork.  "Want it?  I'm mostly full."  
  
You give him a cautious look and weigh your options.  Refusing his offer might make him sad, but if he doesn't get enough to eat--  
  
"Take it," he adds a smile this time and, well, okay, you're not a big fan of sweets - too weird for your tastes - but you bite into it anyway.  
  
You're not expecting the sudden rush of hot-fatty-sweet-salty that oozes out of the spongy product and you make an undignified noise, then with a flick of your head and a snap of your teeth fit the rest in your mouth and chew.  
  
John giggles.  You glare, but trying to answer around this strange, moist concoction would be silly so you keep chewing and make a mental note to just start drinking butter and syrup.  
  
"You've got it all over your chin," he points out as he takes a sip of squeezings and winces.  "Ow, sour."  
  
"Something wrong?"  
  
"No, it--" he stops, then hands you the glass.  "Here, try some."  
  
 **== > Oblidge room mate / flush crush**  
  
You take a sip and suddenly it feels like your tongue has just been run over by a car filled with screaming children.  You flinch, almost spill the glass and shove it back in John's hands as he chuckles.  
  
"You -- you asshole," you hiss, but you're so relieved that he seems to be doing okay now that you'll forgive him pranking you.

  
  
\---  
  
It's a Wednesday again, and even though John seems to be taking this all in his awkward, long stride it's still your least favorite day of the week.  You pick at your dinner, cluckbeast pieces fried in corn batter, and observe your room mate calmly.  He's washing dishes, and looking outside through the windows above the sink with a faint smile on his face.  
  
"Hey, Karkat?"  
  
"Nn?"  
  
"Why don't you go see Gamzee tonight?  The weather looks really nice."  
  
And it does, you can see only a slim sliver of moon carved in the sky and a few handfuls of stars, like they'd been tossed there carelessly by an exasperated creator.  But you study him closely.  
  
You're really generally not that intuitive, but as John places a dish in the drying rack, it shimmers as though the hand that holds it is shaking.  As he washes the knives, he seems to look at them a little too long. It makes you uneasy.  
  
It's not until you see his face in the window's reflection - until you see a tiny, precious little tear sneak out and slide down the side of his nose, skirting his still smiling lips and plop into the water below that you finally realize that he is most certainly _not okay_.  
  
"John," you intone, putting on your best serious face as you shove the plate in the fridge to deal with later.  "We're watching a movie tonight."  
  
He goes still, his face still a jovial mask, but when he turns to face you, you can just see the brokenhearted boy hiding behind the edges.  
  
It's so pitiably you wish you could just die, just go back in time and fix things then cull your fucking self for ever, ever bringing this upon him.  But if you leave him now, he'll really be alone.  
  
"Oh, okay.  What are we watching?"  
  
"You sit your ass down, Egbert, and let me worry about what movie we're watching."  
  
He stares at you, antlerbeast caught in the headlights.  You circle around behind him and push him into the living room.  
  
"But the dishes--"  
  
"What are they going to do, escape and roll themselves in the garbage can to soak in filth if you don't lock them back up in the cupboards?  Movie time.  Now."  
  
Once you've seen him firmly planted on the sofa, looking bewildered and a mix of maybe unease (??) you root through the video cabinet, going all the way to the back for the VHS tapes.  You blow dust off the top of the one movie you know he never saw with Vriska.  
  
Crouching down in front of the TV, you field more questions from John.  
  
"Will you _at least_ tell me what we're watching, Karkat?"  
  
"You will find out in three seconds if you shut your protein chute and let me figure out how to work this thing."  
  
You hear him get up and promptly shove your hand in his face a he tries to butt in.  "I've got it, you stupid pink wriggler.  Nothing can elude me for long."  
  
And it's true, and you push John back to the couch - and he's looking up at you and you want so, _so_ badly to sit yourself in his lap and grab his face in your hand and kiss him - but you head to the bathroom to get a box of tissues before you sit down beside him.  
  
It's not much, but it helps the bottomless pity-ache in your chest when he scoots closer to you and then swears very softly under his breath.  
  
"The Land Before Time?"  
  
You nod, and watch the tiny underwater organisms swim to the surface with the title credits.  It's always been your favorite movie, since the size differences between the 'parents' and the young ones is more like trolls and lusii than much else in human cinema.  
  
John says "oh," very softly, then falls silent for the rest of the movie.  
  
And by the rest of the movie, you mean for twenty minutes or so, however long it takes for the t-rex to show up and then he starts crying.  
  
You're both crying, and you're almost too busy trying to keep your pinkish red tears from staining anything because it feels so good to finally be able to watch a movie and cry without worrying about the spider8itch seeing your mutant fluids to comfort John, who's positively sobbing and doesn't stop until you think he's so dehydrated he's out of tears.  
  
Then he bawls again when the group falls apart from bickering, then when the tiny flying beast is thought to die, and... yeah.  He isn't really _stopping_ crying, but then again neither are you.  
  
 **== > Properly comfort room mate**  
  
Once it's finally over John is slumped over on you, surrounded in a sea of used tissues and sniffling into your shirt as you hug him and try to be the strong one of the two.  You'll go and get him a glass of water as soon as you actually have the willpower to get up, but until them you'll just very gently run you fingers through his hair.  
  
You knew he needed a really good cry, otherwise all those feelings were going to eat him from the inside out like a rotting tooth, but you kind of wish you'd had the foresight to ask John's lusus-dad over so he could support you with his bottomless 'mangrit reserves' but this is your recuperacoon and--  
  
You've already used that metaphor once, you think, so you clutch John closer to you and bury your nose in his hair.  
  
"F-fuck this movie,"  
  
"Oh my god, I know," John mutters into your stomach, "I really needed this but you can't, you c-can't tell anyone okay?"  
  
"What the fuck kind of troll to you think I am?"  
  
You pull his face up to look him in the eyes, bleary but still the deepest shade of blue you've ever seen in person and for once not obscured by his glasses.  He swallows, and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and suddenly you can't take it any more and you kiss him.  
  
You can't stop, not even when he tenses horribly under your touch.  Your tongue swipes out and brushes across his lips, you can taste his tears, taste his pain and you want to wash it all away, you want  to completely surround him with yourself and let nothing ever _hurt_ him, ever _touch him again_.  
  
Then the moment is gone and you're staring down at him and everything inside you just kind of folds up and crumbles into nothing like paper because you have just--  
  
ruined--  
  
 _Everything._  
  
People are going to write stories of your catastrophic failures, of how you preyed on your only friend in his darkest hour after driving him and his matesprit apart.  You'd become a horror story to tell the lowbloods, of how the seadwellers carved you up along your gill slits and tied you to an anchor in the bottom of the ocean so you could choke on your own blood slowly, so slowly, as the scavengers ate you alive for days and you'd deserve every moment of it.   In this situation, you're the bad guy.  It is you.  
  
You're not the broken one, you're the breaker, and the last thing that should be happening is John snuggling closer and pressing another kiss to you oh wait what the _fuck_ \--  
 **  
== > Pay attention to what is actually happening at this moment in time**

He is kissing you shyly and slowly getting a little steadier, even though his breathing is uneven and he's starting to hiccup.  When he breaks away, you hug him into your shoulder and bury your face in the crook of his neck because it's _too much_ , too much right now and you're both so raw with feelings that you could end up doing something you'd both regret and you do not deserve his kisses right now.  
  
Your lips skim against his scar from what now feels like so long along and he shivers. You swallow and choke back a sob as he drops on you, pressing the full weight of his body on you and you _love it_ , the feeling of security and protection at a tradeoff because he's your shield right now but you're his eyes, his guard and you wrap your arms around him as he cries some more and you are _not_ going to let go this time.


	6. Every moment is a toss of the dice (so just try to land on your feet when you fall)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will eventually probably do art for these last two chapters, but I figured you'd all rather appreciate actual completion plot-wise first. Because I don't really feel like a hazy shot of waffles and a repost of the ceiling in John's room is worth waiting two or three weeks for. NOPE.jpg
> 
> Thanks for all the wonderful comments, and another loving shout-out to Zoey~ <3 You are seriously the single coolest chick I have ever met on the interwebs, even with our differences, and no matter where my life leads, I'll always think of WEWY and HS and think of you. C:
> 
> Thus my tribute to you is a shitty sadstuck AU fic. I am a quality human being.

Your name is Karkat Vantas.   
  
Today is a Wednesday, it's raining and you are flat on your back on your room mate's bed waiting for him to come home.  
  
Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you're right back where you started.   
  
**== > Inform audience of past events**  
  
That's not possible, because your life is so _hilariously shitty_ that no one would even think of making it into  some sort of entertainment unless it's a tragedy.  But it'll only really be a tragedy if you were standing outside in the rain contemplating the utter mortality and fragility of life.  Perhaps you'd be thinking on how your whole life so often seem entirely out of your control - every moment's just a toss of the dice, everything is in the cruel hands of fate and it's best if you just tell the one you care about you love them now in case you die tomorrow.  
  
But so little of that's feels true, and the only thing you know is that what little parts of your life you can control you have fucked up in the worst way possible.  You kissed your straight room mate and he hasn't come home to do anything besides sleep and shower in a week.  
  
The first night you gave him his space, even though you were wide awake and actually heard the impact as he flung himself onto the bed.  The second night you pressed yourself against the doorway and hid behind the narrow beam of light like a human child who stayed up past their bedtime to make sure their parents returned and didn't abandon them.  
  
John hasn't abandoned you - not in so many words - but he can't even _look_ at you anymore without bracing himself like you're the monster you always painted (but never really believed) yourself to be.  Your feelings are a hideous mess of black and red and this overwhelming obsession to just be with him at all times, but he won't even come home anymore.  
  
 **== > Mourn loss**  
  
You're so desperate for contact, any kind of raw contact unhindered by lies and fear and confusion (and clothes) that you're rolling around in his sheets keening quietly.  You have always been horrible with feelings and emotions and you have actually had two full feelings jams with Gamzee but it's like emptying a load gaper - a big rush, everything's clean and oky and then more shit plops into your life.  
  
Oh god, you're even sick of metaphors.  You're sicking of living in your own mind and you wish you could just be someone else for a day.  An hour.    
  
 **== > Karkat: Be John**  
  
Body swapping is not an actual possible thing!  You cannot believe you just considered that.  Chalk another victory down for stupidity, past self.  If anyone ever engineers some kind of technology tha would allow you go back in time and shout some sense into yourself, you would be on that like slime on a seatroll.  
  
The doorbell rings, then you're jolted outside of your own head - thank the Sufferer - and lay on the bed for a moment before sleuthing down the stairs.  
  
You wipes your eyes quickly on your black sleeves and open the door.  
  
It's _Vriska Serket_.  
  
 **== > Resist urge to slam door**  
  
You have an iron will when it comes to self-imposed emotional injury, and thus the door remains unslammed.  Vriska is looking down on your with a tight expression, a wad of gauze taped over her left eye and a hand behind her back.  You'd ask what happened to it, but frankly you don't care.  
  
Her uncovered eye glances over your shoulder, scanning the contents of the living room.  "Is John home?" she asked, restrained, tired.  
  
"No, why would he be? It's still school hours," you answer cautiously.   Is that who he'd gone to?  Back to Vriska? "What do you want with him, you--"  
  
An insult hovers on your lips as she fixes you with a vicious, one-eyed glare, and you abruptly change tactics.  
  
You shut your lips tightly and wait for her to speak.  
  
"I wanted to just drop something off, okay, and pick up a few of my things."  She tilts her chin up, tosses her hair out of the way, but under that mask of pride she's oozing - _hemorrhaging_ hurt.  
  
Just like John.  
  
Your feelings are a big knotted mess of guilt-hate-pity-jealousy-confusion so you wad them up and kill the flame under your think-pan as you step aside.  She enters, and you instantly recognise the handful of daisies as a peace offering.  
  
You also recognize them as being ripped from Lalonde's garden a couple hours ride away in New York.    
  
Closing the door behind her, your eyes follow her movements carefully, analyzing every moment until you can't shut up anymore. "Kanaya put you up to this."    
  
It's not a question, it's an accusation.  
  
Vriska flaunts her back to you ask she fetches a vase from the kitchen cabinets and fills it up with water.  
  
"Why would you even care?  I'm done with John. If he doesn't realize how _great_ I am," and she shares Terezi' ability to speak numbers into her words, "then who gives a shit?"  
  
But she doesn't share Terezi's ability to lie.  She cares, still - you can tell by how she's looking everything over, the way her hand shakes as she fills the vase with water and slightly wilting blossoms.  
  
This is going to turn into a feelings jam really quickly if you don't boot her out.  
  
Thankfully, Vriska keeps her blue-hued lips tightly shut around her fangs as she roots through the DVD collection.  You hover over her shoulder, feeling territorial like John's actually in one of your quadrants and you have the right to be protective of his possessions.  
  
The silence between you is about as invasive as the world's worst splinter - it's there and it's uncomfortable but if you start digging around all you're gonna do is be in even more discomfort.  You're both normally pretty talkative - okay, maybe less talking and more shouting - and you're both very obviously holding back.  
  
All she'd have to do, though, is open her vicious little mouth and the walls would be painted in blood.  
  
"Can you tell him something, though?"  Her voice is cold as she bites her lip, blinking quickly as if some invisible force is dragging the words out of her mouth.  
  
"Yeah, sure.  I guess I don't mind being a messenger."  No way in hell are you going to let her know how bad it is between you now, so much the worse for her having left.  This is true, bitter, irony, not the kind Strider's always claiming to achieve.  He wouldn't know irony if it filled a bucket with him.  
  
"Can you just..."  
  
The door opens, suddenly, and John walks in with his face weary.  
  
"Kark--"  
  
Your name on his lips chokes off suddenly, and he's staring at Vriska as she's staring at him and you're just... _there_ , suddenly forgotten in the awkward cliche romantic gaze crossfire.  You slink out of the way.  Neither of them even notice.  
  
 **== > Don't cry**  
  
You were a fool for thinking he'd ever leave her.  You were a fool for thinking he'd ever pity you.  You're just a big--  
  
fucking  
  
 _FOOL_.  
  
But at least you don't cry.  
  
 **== > Abscond**  
  
Can't abscond, bro.  Oh, no.  You're going to stash yourself away at the top of the stairs where they can't see you, and you're going to listen to every word they say because you're still a fool and you still have hope.  
  
Vriska starts.  
  
"Hey, I, uh... brought you flowers and came to pick up my shit."  
  
John stays quiet.  You almost forget to breathe.    
  
"Look, I'm not here to beg-- I mean, to take you back or anything.  I get it.  I'm..." Her voice breaks a little and a sudden stab of pity for her makes your eyes sting.  "I'm not who you thought I was."  
  
You're inwardly dying to get a look at John's face, because you've seen enough romantic movies to be able to tell when the hero is reconsidering his spurned lover but you _can't bring yourself to look_.  
  
"I just wanted you to know that... I really pitied you.  It wasn't just a game to me like it was with Tav-- with others in the past.  But..."  
  
She takes a couple steps, probably in his direction, and you hear his breath hitch.  Then there's a subtle sounds of lips on lips, a whisper, then the clatter of some movies and the gentle click of the door.  
  
Sometime later, which is probably only a few minutes, you hear John's footsteps on the stairs.  You reflexively freeze because any kind of movement and he'll see you but-- no, it's always too late and he's looking at you with eyes so sad and so blue.  
  
He swallows, and you drop his gaze to stare at the floor.  There's nothing left for you to say.  There's nothing left at all, it feels like.  
  
 **== > Surrender**  
  
Yellow shoes come into your field of vision, then his lips are brushing your forehead and he's...  
  
"I'm sorry I left," is whispered into your hair and everything in you and of you just kind of collapses and he catches you, always graceful when it comes to romantic moments.  But this time, it's not Vriska he's leaning in for a dip, perfectly arching her back and kissing her like he's seen in all the movie you watched together, it's you he's pressing against the wall as you both go to the floor, you sitting and him kneeling.  
  
John rests his forehead on your shoulder, and it's not until his hands brush yours that you realize he's shaking and he's falling apart just like you are, so you fidget and shift until your legs are tangled up together and you nuzzle the side of his neck.  You're trembling too and nothing feels real but if this is a dream you _never_ want to wake up.  
  
There's a million questions trying to escape your treacherous mouth, but every last one would completely kill the moment so you knaw on your lower lip to keep them in.  
  
"I know I shouldn't have treated you like that, and... apparently it's been really obvious to everyone for a while how you feel- or felt," and he gives a strangled little laugh, "but this is all really..."  
  
"It's okay, I understand, you're not ready and you're not a homosexual --" oh, god, you are a giant fucking idiot-- "and you still pity Vriska so it's okay, _really_ , I'll just pack up and give you your space, I'm sure Gamzee will be okay with me crashing I just... _I don't want to lose you_."  
  
You're crying again and you hate it, but you're trying to fix this so you keep talking as fast as you can in an angry torrent.  "I'll be or do whatever you want, just don't lock me out of your life again, okay?  I'm fine with just--"  
  
John pulls back suddenly, then the back of your head collides with the wall and wait _he's kissing you_ and it's so--  
  
Your eyes flutter closed and you really don't know what you're doing when you kiss him back and grab the back of his head because you haven't tried _really_ kissed anyone in forever and this is just way, way too intense and you're going to melt into a pile of feelings on the floor.  
  
His teeth, his lips, his tongue - you're not aware of anything beyond them with anything other than the sort of vague acknowledgement you give to things like gravity and oxygen and the rotation of the earth which kinda feels like it's spinning and you suddenly push back against him viciously and pin him to the floor.  
  
Your knees slide around his hips and your hand hurts a bit from acting as a cushion from between his skull and the floor but you really can't help yourself anymore when you practically _attack_ his mouth, sliding your tongue in like a sloppy-makeouts-champ and savoring the little gasp he gives when you pull away.  
  
And then reality hits you like a ton of bricks and you realize that you've pretty much felt every extreme emotion on the spectrum in the span of _two minutes_ and you stop.  You are a fucking runaway steam-powered railengine and you need to slow down before you wreck.  
  
John stares up at you, with tinted teardrops on one cheekbone and a hint of your saliva on his lips (which he then licks away and your knees just kind of scoot away from each other so you're fully straddling him, whoops how did that happen) and blinks.  
  
"Hi," you greet him, suddenly clear headed.  
  
"Hi," and his voice is gratifyingly uneven as he takes in short, shuddering little breaths and shivers beneath you, brimming with energy.  
  
Some divine force has given you this chance, and you don't care if it's probably just a rebound for John, you are not going to fuck this up. "Do you want to have dinner with me?"  
  
"W-what?"  
  
"Dinner.  Like, an at home human courtship date."  
  
He more mouths the "oh" then says it, but he blushes a bit and nods.  
  
"Uh, yeah, sure. "  He props himself up on his hands, and you lean back against his bent legs just enough so he doesn't headbutt you.  This view of him is glorious, up close and wearing that cherry-red blush much better than you know you are. 

  
You both sit like that for a moment, just studying the other.  (You've already memorized him from afar, but it doesn't hurt to appreciate him like this.)  
  
His mouth quirks up deliciously in the corner.  "Karkat, I have to be able to get up to call for food."  
  
You can't really be blamed for wanting that last kiss, and John doesn't seem to protest although he does still look a little frightened and uncomfortable so you let him up but follow him all the way down the stairs.  
  
You've got this second chance, and you're going to do this the right way.

 

**== > Make it count**


End file.
